by Kristin Cast
“That will make an appropriate gift in honor of the indigenous women.” Xena shifted and tugged at the neck of the oversized blue peasant blouse she’d borrowed from their mom’s closet before she smoothed, then pulled at, and smoothed again the long, silver broom skirt that had been one of Abigail’s favorites.
From the passenger seat Mercy turned to look at her. “Are you okay back there?”
“No. I very much am not. I despise these horrible, soulless things.” Her long fingers fluttered at the interior of the car. “And though my Abigail was a lovely woman I do not understand how she, or any of you, ever wear clothing.” Xena plucked at the sleeve of her blouse.
“Xena, you’re not even wearing anything under that,” Mercy said. “Bras and panties are way more uncomfortable than real clothes.”
Xena shuddered. “I do not know how you bear it. It’s already quite awful.” Then she leaned forward and peered from twin to twin. “But what is even more awful is whatever is going on between the two of you.”
Mercy blew out a long, frustrated breath. “There’s nothing going on other than Kirk is an even bigger douchebag than you two thought. We broke up. In front of the entire sodding school. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
Hunter’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Her lips pressed into a tight line and she said nothing.
“Fine, kittens. Don’t talk about it. But you two need to focus. Tonight is too important for you to bring anger and resentment into the ritual.”
Mercy bowed her head. She knew Xena was right. She needed to get her shit together so that if or when the ritual failed there would be no doubt about why. So there, in the car with her sister’s silent presence beside her, Mercy closed her eyes and concentrated on her shattered heart. On one raw, bleeding piece of it she envisioned carving the name ABIGAIL into her frayed flesh. On another wounded spot she carved HUNTER. And on the last, the newest, the most jagged piece of her somehow still beating heart she carved KIRK. Then she imagined taking a roll of gauze, like the sterile one in Abigail’s emergency kit that rested in a bottom shelf of the pantry, and she wrapped it around and around the lacerations until the names could no longer be seen—until all that was left was a heart-shaped organ completely cocooned, which somehow still pulsed with stubborn life.
She turned her face to her half-open window and inhaled deeply the scents of the evening—of trees and grasses, crops and spring flowers. As she drank in the soothing earth, Mercy channeled its magic within and held it tightly to her damaged heart. The ache inside her subsided and in its place there was a nothingness that was almost equally as frightening, but a lot easier to think through.
She opened her eyes as Hunter pulled up in front of Emily’s meticulously landscaped corner lot. People always oohed and aahed about the huge, brick edifice, but Mercy had never liked it. She knew the coldness of the outside and the façade of perfection were all too perfectly mimicked inside.
“There’s Jax.” Hunter waved and Jax got quickly out of his car and jogged across the street to them.
He put one hand on the roof and ducked down to peer inside. His left eye was swollen and black and there was a dark scab on his bottom lip. “Hi, Xena.”
“Hello, Jax kitten,” said Xena. She cocked her head and studied him. “Were you victorious in your battle?”
He started to grin and then grimaced as his lip began to bleed again. “Yeah, actually. I was.”
“Good,” Hunter said firmly.
Jax’s gaze shifted to Mercy. Instead of turning away, Mercy met his kind brown eyes. “Hey, Mag. You okay?”
“Yep. Fine.”
His brow lifted, but he didn’t say anything else to her.
Mercy wanted to ask him if he’d really kicked Kirk’s ass. Somewhere deep inside she hoped he had—hoped he’d made Kirk feel just a little of the hurt she was left suffering, but the words got trapped in the gauze that held her heart together.
Jax touched Hunter’s shoulder through the open window. “How you doin’?”
Hunter covered his hand for a moment with her own. “Fine,” she echoed Mercy’s empty word.
Xena cleared her throat. “All right then. Shall we go get our other kitten?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Without waiting for any of them, Mercy got out of the car and climbed the big stone stairs that led to a small but elaborately carved entryway. No wide, comfortable porch for the Parrotts—just lots of show that was totally devoid of warmth. As Hunter, Xena, and Jax came up to stand, fortresslike, behind her, she pressed the doorbell.
Nothing happened for so long that Mercy had raised her hand to press the button again when the door finally opened.
Emily blinked and then squinted as if the light from the setting sun was too bright for her amber eyes. Her chestnut skin looked dull; her beautiful eyes were framed with circles so dark they appeared bruised. And her hair—the gorgeous mahogany mass she was so proud of—that she liked to wear in a wild curl that fell well past her shoulders—was pulled back in a severe scrunchie. She was wearing what Mercy knew she called her watch-TV clothes—an old yellow sweat suit and scuffed sneakers.
Emily looked awful.
“Mag?” She sounded dazed, like she’d been awakened in the middle of sleepwalking. Then her gaze caught on the small group behind Mercy and her eyes widened. “Um, hi, guys. Do you want to come in?”
“Yes, we do.” Xena pushed past her to pull Emily into her arms. “Oh, kitten! I have been so, so worried about you!”
“Uh, thanks.” Emily’s voice was muffled by Xena’s mane of hair, but she returned the cat person’s hug until a sneeze rocked her body.
“I am so sorry.” Xena released Emily and took a step back. “I always forget how allergic you are.”
“Allergic?” Emily’s forehead wrinkled.
Mercy spoke up quickly. “Em, I know this is not a good time, but we need you.”
Emily shook her head a little, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard her friend correctly. “But, I—”
“Emily!” A wobbly old voice drifted from the direction of the kitchen. “If that’s my delivery from the IGA, have them bring the things into the kitchen.”
“No, Grandma, it’s not—”
“Emily Michelle, if that’s my delivery from the pharmacy, tip the boy well.” Her mother’s voice, which Mercy had always thought sounded shrill, splintered the air from the opposite side of the house. “They’re doing me a special favor.”
“It’s not the deliver guy, Mom, it’s—”
“It’s the liquor store. Tip him well, too. Good help is hard to get.” Her grandfather slurred his words from a closer room.
Emily sighed and stared at the floor.
No one came out of their respective hidey-holes to actually see who was at the door. Mercy studied her best friend, who looked completely defeated. She took Emily’s hand. Her friend looked up at her.
“We need you,” she repeated firmly. “Please come with us. It won’t take long, and I’ll explain in the car, but I promise it’s important. Really important.”
Emily stared at her, shoulders bowed in defeat. “I can’t leave.”
“Yes, kitten, you can,” said Xena firmly.
“We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need you,” said Hunter.
Jax nodded. “Yeah, what they said. And I haven’t seen you since … since, well, you know. But I’m really sorry, Em.”
“Thanks.” She cleared her throat and continued, “I wanna help you guys.” Emily kept her words soft as if speaking too loudly would awaken ghosts. “I really do, but I can’t leave. They’re a mess. Like, my mom can barely make it to the bathroom. Grandpa’s drunk. Grandma’s lost her mind. Someone has to take care of them.”
“Oh, kitten…” Xena whispered.
“Emily!” Her mother’s voice made them all jump. “I need those pills!”
“I thought it was the liquor store,” yelled her grandpa.
“No, I told you, it’s the IGA,” blared fr
om the kitchen.
With each voice—each shout—Emily seemed to shrink more and more inside herself. They’re going to make her completely disappear and the Em I know won’t exist anymore. And Mercy Anne Goode couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.
“No!” Mercy shouted, splitting the air with her anger-fueled words. “No!” she repeated. “This is bullshit!” Emily opened and closed her mouth as she stared at her friend. Mercy continued to grip her hand and kept going—kept letting the truth rush from her wounded heart and fall from her lips. “Why can’t anyone be who they’re supposed to be? Your mom’s supposed to be a mother, not a drugged-out, self-indulgent brat.” The words spilled around Mercy, sloshing against the immaculately decorated shell of a home. “Your grandparents are supposed to be your support system—the people you count on for strength and love—not the people you have to prop up.”
“Mag—” Hunter began softly, but Mercy spoke over her.
“And you’re supposed to be a girl—a teenager—a daughter who gets to be sad about losing her dad without having to play grown-up for the grown-ups!” she finished, breathing hard. Her friends stared at her as the heat of her anger drained away, leaving her heart cold and broken again. “Oh. Oh, no. Em, I’m sorry. Really I shouldn’t have said all of that. I—”
“Hello, Mercy. Hello, children.” Emily’s mother stepped into the foyer behind them. “What is it you just said?”
Emily drew a deep breath and turned to face her mom. “Mercy said that I need to get out of the house, and she’s right. Mom, I need a break. I have to have a break.” She blinked hard, obviously trying to keep the tears pooling in her eyes from spilling over.
Emily’s mom looked from her daughter to her friends. Her eyes were glassy, but her voice didn’t waver when she spoke. “Emily, you’re right. Go ahead. Be with your friends.”
“Emily?” Her grandma joined Emily’s mother.
“Grandma, these are my friends,” said Emily.
Grandma walked stiffly to Emily and rested one hand on her shoulder. “Yes, I can see that they are.”
“Beatrice, Emily was just going out,” said Em’s mother.
The older woman looked back at her daughter-in-law. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Helene, would you join me in the kitchen?”
Emily’s mom’s eyes filled with tears. She nodded. “Yes. I would like that. Very much.”
“What’s happening out there?” slurred her grandfather.
“Nothing!” The two older women yelled together, and then they shared a real smile.
“Go. Be with your friends,” repeated Em’s mom after kissing her daughter on the forehead. “We’ll be just fine.”
Emily seemed unable to speak, so Mercy tugged on her hand as Jax opened the door and they all filed out.
* * *
They all piled into the Camry Hunter had parked across the street from the Parrotts’ house, and as Mercy—with occasional help from Hunter and Xena—unfolded the truth behind the settling of Goode-ville and the tragic events of the past four days, the shadows under Emily’s eyes lifted. From her place between Jax and Xena in the center of the backseat, she sat up straighter, her expression growing more animated until she held up a hand and stopped Mercy.
“You’re real witches.” She looked from Hunter to Mercy. “I mean, I kinda knew it before, and that grief spell made me think that there was more to your powers than just herbs to fix cramps and an occasional love potion.”
“Love potions are not actually what you think they are,” said Xena. “It isn’t ethical to play with someone’s desires. Goode witches would never—”
“Xena, I don’t think that’s an important point right now,” interrupted Mercy. She met her friend’s gaze. “What is important is that you understand the truth. Since 1693, Goode witches have been guardians of those five gates—”
“Which are really the five weird trees?” Jax broke in.
“Yes,” continued Mercy, nodding at him. “And we have to close and strengthen those gates tonight—at sunset.” She glanced outside at the waning light. “Which will be pretty soon. Will you help us?”
Emily didn’t hesitate. “Yes. That’s what friends do, right? But it’s more than that. This is why your mom and my dad were killed. So, we’re getting rid of the Cyclops tonight?”
Hunter spoke firmly. “I promise.”
“I’m totally in.”
“Jax?” Mercy asked.
“Just tell me what I need to do.”
The band of tension began to release from around Mercy’s chest. She dug into her purse and pulled out the six sheets of paper she’d prepared the night before. Mercy handed out four of them, keeping two for herself—leaving the sixth sheet facedown on her lap. “Okay, ask any questions you have—anything at all. It starts with setting your intention. That means that as soon as we’re on our way to our trees each of us must focus. Read my instructions carefully. Hunter and I are going to be channeling powerful energy through you tonight. You have to be prepared for it.”
“How are we going to—” Emily began and then had to stop as three sneezes shook her body. “OMG, bless me!” She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. “Gross. Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I usually only sneeze like this around…” Her words trailed off as her head swiveled to stare at Xena, who was licking the back of her hand and smoothing her hair.
“What?” Xena stopped mid-lick.
“We might as well tell them,” said Hunter. “They know everything else.”
Mercy shrugged. “Fine with me. Xena?”
The cat person shook herself, which sent her hair flying madly around her shoulders and made Emily sneeze again. “Emily, kitten.” Xena took her hand gently between hers. “I am a cat. Their cat. And by theirs I mean I’ve been a Goode familiar for generations. Please don’t ask for how many years—it’s impolite.” While Emily and Jax stared slack-mouthed at her, Xena nodded. “Oh, and Emily, I am truly sorry I make you sneeze. I give you my word I do not do it on purpose. I’ve always liked you, kitten.” She dimpled at Jax and made a little purring noise. “You, too.”
Emily and Jax turned their wide-eyed gazes from Xena, who went back to grooming herself, to the twins.
“It’s true,” answered Hunter and Mercy together—though they didn’t share the intimate smile that usually accompanied their twin-speak.
Emily went back to staring at Xena. “In a completely bizarre way that makes perfect sense.”
“Yup,” said Jax, who shot Xena sideways glances.
“Kittens.” She paused in her grooming. “Refocus on your intention. We can discuss how spectacularly magical I am another time.”
“I’m gonna have to get some Benadryl. A lot of Benadryl,” muttered Emily as her attention returned to the spell.
“Okay, so, to answer the question I think Em was starting to ask,” Mercy said. “We’re going to communicate through our speaker phones.”
“Except for me,” Hunter broke in. “There’s no way to know if I’ll be able to be on my phone. Mercy will use our connection to know when I’m in place. And then you’ll have to trust me to keep up.”
Mercy nodded. She didn’t look at Hunter. Good. She won’t try to take over. I’m better at this part anyway, Mercy told herself. “So, I’m going to lead you through the ritual, and I’ll be sure I don’t waste time on flowery words and such. We light candles, then seal the gates with—”
“Blood!” Emily squeaked, her eyes on the cheat sheet.
Xena patted her knee. “Yes, kitten, but not very much.”
Mercy barreled on quickly. “Then you thank your tree and blow out your candle—and we’re done!”
Emily raised her hand. “You said we each need an offering, but I don’t have anything.”
“Em, you’ll be at the cherry tree that guards the Japanese gate,” explained Mercy. “I brought your offering.” She reached into her purse and brought out the beautiful little Japanese sumi-e Emily had painted in rem
embrance of Abigail Goode.
Emily took it, holding it carefully, gazing at the soaring owl. “It seems like a million years ago that I painted this.”
“It is a perfect offering,” Xena assured her. “Something precious created with love.”
Jax waved his hand, getting their attention. “What’s my offering?”
“The dove feather you got from your dad, remember?” answered Hunter.
“Oh, right! Got it in my pocket.” Jax patted his jean’s pocket.
Mercy turned to look at her sister. “I didn’t see what offering you brought.”
Her twin’s emotionless eyes met hers. Her voice had a hard edge to it that bordered on anger. “I’m going to get it on my way to the tree, but you already knew that, so why did you need to ask?”
Mercy just stared at her, unable to arrange the right words to reply.
Into the sudden silence Emily spoke up. “My other question is about the, um, blood.”
“Oh, I can answer that.” Xena bent and brought out a small, rectangular box from below the seat in front of her. She opened it to expose five tiny daggers, each about the size of a pinky finger. They nestled on faded red velvet.
“I’ve never seen those before,” Hunter said, peering over the front seat.
“They were in the attic,” Xena said, “in Gertrude Goode’s hope chest.”
“What are they?” asked Mercy, intrigued by the perfection of their carved bone handles and their razor-like blades.
“Miniature athames.” When Emily and Jax sent her confused looks Xena fluttered her fingers at them and clarified. “Sorry, kittens. I keep forgetting how new all of this is to you. An athame is a witch’s dagger—used only for rituals and spells. In the past, witches used a lot more bloodletting in their spellwork.” She sighed nostalgically. “That seems to have gone out of style. Well, go on, each of you, take one.” She passed the box around and everyone chose their athame.
“Cut yourself beneath your thumb, on that meaty part of your palm,” Hunter said. She moved her shoulders uncomfortably when everyone’s gaze turned to her. “What? It’s not super sensitive there, and it’ll be easy to just prick yourself and then squeeze it to make the blood drip.”
